


a craigslist story

by tossertozier (rednoseredhair)



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Homophobia, M/M, Road Trips, Slurs, craigslist au??, is that a thing i can tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-19 04:23:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13115946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rednoseredhair/pseuds/tossertozier
Summary: It’s Christmas. Want to skip that long, insulting conversation about how you’re still single? About how your parents really want more grand children? Well, look no further!i am a 26 year old felon with longish black hair, no degree, and a dirty old truck one year younger than me painted like eddie van halen’s guitar. i can be as awful as you want & can play anywhere between the ages of 20 and 29 depending on if i shave. i’m a programmer but i work late nights at a bar for fun. If you’d like to have me as your strictly platonic date for Christmas, but have me pretend to be in a very long or serious relationship with you, to torment your family, I’m game.





	1. Chapter 1

"Bev," Richie used his foot to slam his refrigerator door shut. "I really, like, genuinely," he shoved the slice of pizza he retrieved in his mouth, being careful not to drop the can of beer cradled in the crook of his arm, "appreciate the offer…"

"No, no-" Richie stopped walking to refute his best friend, "no, I am not being sarcastic, no that was not _snide_ -"

"Tell me, then," Bev stopped Richie mid-sentence. Richie took the time to meander back around the corner to his ugly futon. He flopped over sideways onto it, making a mental note to wait to open the beer. "What were you gonna say next?"

"…nothing." Richie mumbled, chewing loudly.

"Rich-"

"Okay, fine, maybe I was gonna tell you that I'd literally rather take the the contents of Weird Gary's freezer and thaw them out while simultaneously marinating them in mustard and then blend it up and drink it at Bower’s engagement party than go with you to Ben's for Christmas, but I didn't actually say it, did I?"

"Richie, you just said i-"

"What is this, a murder investigation?" Richie set the beer on the table, staring at whatever he was streaming through ChromeCast…currently, it was season two of Degrassi. He didn't know why- he just liked the colors.

"What? Ugh-" Bev groaned. Richie grinned, a small one, because Bev couldn't actually see him, and took another bite of pizza.

"Stop grinning," Bev told him flatly, and Richie grinned harder. "And be nice to me, because I am just worried about your patterns of socialization since moving to Boston, because you aren't exactly-"

"a charmer?" Richie snorted, chewing loudly.

“You know that’s complete horseshit,” Bev drawled back with irritation. Richie laughed, because, yeah. He did. “You haven't exactly made friends, Rich.”

"Please, Beaver," he cracked open her beer, "I'm a regular social butterfly." He switched up the volume of Degrassi on her T.V. "See?" He took another sip, "I've got friends over right now."

"Richie, do you remember we binge watched Degrassi together one summer before binge-watching was even a thing? We didn't leave my basement for three weeks. And I'd know that episode anywhere."

“These are my friends.”

“Ugh, that sounds sad as fuck, Richie. Don't say that.”

Richie made an odd sound, somewhere in the middle ground of a laugh and a groan. “I've made new friends,” he complained.

“Not real ones,” she corrected. “No one you're committed to. No one you'd make holiday plans with”

“I'm committed to no one in general.”

“Richie yesterday I sneezed once during our daily phone call and you texted me for ‘health updates’ six times.”

“Well, fuck a guy for caring, I guess.”

“That's not the point, Rich. The point is you should really make plans with someone for the holi-”

His roommate then chose to bust open through their front door. Her name was Greta and she was a hot fucking disaster and Richie had never loved a person more. She hated Richie’s everything. She had her hair piled on top of her head, and boots that went over her knees. She was also wearing an outfit that could resemble Marilyn Monroe's iconic look, if Marilyn Monroe was a prostitute who got lost in Cabo.

Richie raised her eyebrows at her, "rough night?" He mouthed at Greta.

Greta, the former stripper with two cats, one named Watson and the other Roberta, held up a middle finger and stomped her way to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. Richie laughed. He picked her to live with as a laugh and to annoy his parents and she was still just as funny.

"Richie, have you even been listening to me?"

"Yes, baby." He drawled into her phone as if Bev were his girlfriend. Which- she wasn't. He’d like to say Ben would cut off his balls, but Ben would never. Ben would probably dig himself a nice hole in the ground and still send them Christmas cards. ‘ _Seasons Greetings From this Ditch_.’ But at the same time, she kind of was a partner of his. They were just a little bit married, no big deal.

"So you'll do it?"

"Yes, I will. I promise." Just as married people did, he made a promise he had no intention of keeping.

"Okay- but I'm serious, by next week or I will buy you a ticket. I have to go now because Ben's poking me, and he sends his love, so I will talk to you-”

"Tell him to shove his love up his-"

"I am hanging up now bye!"

"Ben she's chEATING ON YOU WITH A SWAGGERING GOLDFISH NAM-" Richie shouted into the receiver until the clear buzz that the call ended came through. Which was a damn shame he got cut off, because the goldfish's name was Jezebel.

"Richie-" a large bang on her wall, "SHUT THE FUCK UP," Richie turned around and saw that Becky had thrown a vintage candelabra at her. Where she even got that, Richie had no idea.

* * *

 

Richie was laying on his bedspread, laptop on his tummy and doritos crumbs…everywhere. He knew Bev was somewhat right- plans for Christmas certainly couldn't hurt. He certainly didn't actually have the funds to fly home, and also… he didn’t want to! So, that was out. He had convinced his parents he built an empire off of Vine so they'd leave him the hell alone and stop sending him passive aggressive forwards about dental school. They all looked the same, anyway. Richie was fairly convinced that someone took pictures of one college and made a bunch of logos for it and sent out emails pretending like they were different colleges. No one would be the wiser- certainly not Richie, anyway.

But really, plans wouldn't be _that_ awful. Not that Thanksgiving wasn't a real hoot, watching the Real Housewives and then going to the bar at Midnight for an opening shift of watching rich men drink away the sorrows of whatever damage their wife was doing to their credit card. The Real Housewives was only quality content, anyway. He may or may not have been watching it at that moment.

Richie could have a date if he really wanted a date, but that felt a little bit like letting Bev win. So, he groaned, and continued to watch the Housewives tear down one of the daughter's new boyfriends. He had a tattoo, which basically meant she plucked him off the mean streets of Detroit. Richie rolled his eyes- the horror of abnormality in suburban America, _God_ forbid.

And then he had the idea.

_It’s Christmas. Want to skip that long, insulting conversation about how you’re still single? About how your parents really want more grand children? Well, look no further!_

_i am a 26 year old felon with longish black hair, no degree, and a dirty old truck one year younger than me painted like eddie van halen’s guitar. i can be as awful as you want & can play anywhere between the ages of 20 and 29 depending on if i shave. i’m a programmer but i work late nights at a bar for fun. If you’d like to have me as your strictly platonic date for Christmas, but have me pretend to be in a very long or serious relationship with you, to torment your family, I’m game. _

_I can do these things, at your request:_

_openly hit on other female (or male, its 2017, amirite?) guests while you act like you dont notice._

_start instigative discussions about politics and/or religion._

_propose to you in front of everyone._

_pretend to be really drunk as the evening goes on_

_Start an actual, physical fight with a family member, either inside or on the front lawn for all the neighbors to see._

_I require no pay but the free meal i will receive as a guest!_

Richie honestly didn't know what he expected posting the ad with his phone number on Craigslist but he felt like he was winning at a game of some sort.

A game he was maybe playing with himself, but a game nonetheless. It wasn't as if he actually expected anything to come of it. He might just take the opening shift at the bar and take a pic with some guy and send it and a screenshot to Bev so she could get mad and call and yell at him.

That sounded kind of funny.

* * *

 Richie sighed, laying backwards over his couch. He had no idea what to do with his life at the moment, as he had a solid four friends and had already texted them all. He wasn't exactly in the mood to play video games or listen to music or do anything particularly so he blankly stared at the television as the next episode of Chopped queued up.

He hoped it wouldn't be another round with kids, as watching them get all worked up just stressed him out and not in the fun way.

His phone jangled a familiar tune and he blinked at it, hoping it would be Ben reaction to the bizarre Blu Ivy meme he texted him.

It was a completely unfamiliar number, certainly not Boston, judging by the area code.

 **New Number 6:02 p.m.**  
**hey.**  
**you gay**  
**bro?**

 **richie 6:03 p.m.**  
**am i about to get gay-bashed via text message**  
**this feels like an accomplishment**

 **New Number 6:03 p.m.**  
**I am so sorry.**  
**I can’t believe I…**  
**I mean, I would hope not?**  
**Or we’re both in trouble!**  
**I mean, I'm very gay, so.**  
**Hi!**  
**I saw your ad.**

He snorted, squinting at the text while shaking his head. He knew he was playing with fire, as every DARE course about internet safety he had ever taken screamed at him from the back of his mind. Especially because the guy, or girl, who knows, typed like it was 2007. They were probably old enough to be his dad.

But, they, whoever they may be, had tested fate and texted him when he was bored out of his mind, so they were going to deal with the repercussions of it.

 **richie 6:05 p.m.**  
**hi very gay**  
**I'm dad**

 **New Number 6:06 p.m.**  
**Is this going to be one of those “daddy” jokes?**

 **richie 6:06 p.m.**  
**do you want it to be?**

 **New Number 6:06 p.m.**  
**Only if you'll actually come to my little league game this time, Dad.**  
**I know it doesn't take 22 years to get milk.**

Richie snorted. He knew he should block the contact and delete the ad and yet he kept typing.

**richie 6:07 p.m.  
Super long queue at 7/11, kiddo.**

**New Number 6:08 p.m.**  
**Ugh, don’t call me kiddo.**  
**That's weird.**

**richie 6:08 p.m.  
I don’t have a name to work off of.**

**New Number 6:09 p.m.  
Neither do I. **

**richie 6:09 p.m.  
do you plan on giving me a plethora of adorable nicknames then?**

**New Number 6:10 p.m.  
no.**

Richie laughed.

 **richie 6:10 p.m.**  
**then how would your family know we’re in Love**  
**let’s get matching tattoos.**

 **New Number 6:11 p.m.**  
**So, it was a joke, then?**  
**Your ad?**  
**I figured as much, but I thought I would try anyway.**  
**I don’t know what I think I’m doing, actually.**

 **richie 6:11 p.m.**  
**depends**  
**ya gotta tell me what made you desperate enough to reply to a craigslist ad**  
**how much time do you spend on the craigslist personal page**  
**how many gentleman have you called upon**

 **New Number 6:12 p.m.**  
**None!**  
**You know you listed yourself under free stuff, right?**

 **richie 6:13 p.m.**  
**i do now**

 **New Number 6:13 p.m.**  
**I don’t know.**  
**You're my age and pretty nearby and...**  
**I just really hate my mother.**  
**I was looking for a waffle iron.**  
**But I found you.**

Richie could relate to the family drama - and he found himself intrigued.

**richie 6:14 p.m.  
now we’re speaking my language**

**New Number 6:14 p.m.  
Waffle iron?**

**richie 6:15 p.m.  
yea i took it in college**

**New Number 6:15 p.m.**  
**I’ve been fluent since childhood.**  
**Get on my level.**  
**Beep beep boop sizzle pop.**  
**That was stupid.**  
**I’m sorry.**

Richie laughed out loud at the terrible joke but mostly the apology. He tried to picture who he was talking to. The mental image kept getting fuzzier.

 **New Number 6:16 p.m.**  
**If waffle irons could actually talk I feel like we definitely wouldn’t be speaking the same language.**  
**I always burn waffles.**  
**I was looking for one for a gift.**  
**My mom doesn’t particularly like waffles, or breakfast, so I thought it would be perfect.**

**Richie found the laugh returning, and yet he frowned at the text, finding himself curious about the family relationship between this stranger and his parents. He had tried to start that conversation once and failed.**

**richie 6:17 p.m.**  
**but you’ll settle for a Me instead?**  
**you must really want to punish her.**

 **New Number 6:18 p.m.**  
**We’ve never gotten along**  
**I had a rough childhood.**  
**But it’s been unbearable since I came out.**

Richie frowned harder. He could sympathize. He snapped his fingers, rhythmically, nervously. He had made dumber decisions based on less information. And the world thrived off of online dating now, wouldn’t it?

He couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed that hard talking to anyone.

 **richie 6:19 p.m.**  
**wanna talk about it?**  
**over coffee, maybe?**

 _WHAT ARE YOU DOING_ , his mind yelled at him, _WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO GET MURDERED?_

 **richie 6:19 p.m.**  
**but it has to be somewhere with outside seating so my tiny horse can come.**  
**his name is sebastian.**  
**he drinks his coffee with cream, no sugar. tan, like his glorious coat.**

He honestly thought that might be weird enough to sufficiently scare off his suitor, but his phone was buzzing before he could even put it back on the coffee table.

 **New Number 6:18 p.m.**  
**Is he, by chance,…Lil?**  
**Are there, per chance,…**  
**5000 candles in the wind?**

It was accompanied by a smiling emoji sticking it's tongue out.

Richie squinted at the phone. He hadn't even realized that he had completely stolen that joke from Parks and Recreation when he typed it. He had half a mind to be annoyed at getting called out for it, but he was more amused by the turn of the conversation.

**richie 6:19 p.m.  
is skim milk water lying about being milk?**

**New Number 6:20 p.m.**  
**haha**  
**So…**  
**Coffee**?

A moment, and then.

**New Number 6:21 p.m.  
This is probably a mistake, isn’t it?**

Richie laughed, realizing that whoever was on the other side of the phone, if he was actually around his age the way he said he was, must be as anxious as he was. Plus. Eh. He had made dumber decisions with Bill.

**richie 6:21p.m.  
at least it’s one we’d be making together.**

**New Number 6:24 p.m.**  
**If…**  
**I agreed to meet you at a coffee place, with plentiful accommodation for house horses.**

A moment passed and Richie blinked.

**richie 6:26 p.m.  
Yes?**

He gripped his phone harder than necessary for sitting on his couch, like he might drop it..

 **New Number 6:12 p.m.**  
**Would it be a bright place?**  
**Busy?**  
**With lots of people?**  
**And probably no knives?**

He paused for a second and frowned in consideration.

 **richie 6:12 p.m.**  
**yes**  
**yes**  
**yes**  
**hopefully?**  
**...also**  
**could you bring a house horse because lil sebastian isn't feeling well?**

Their reply didn't take too long, thank God, because he had started sweating at some point, which was fucking gross and also weird because why was he nervous?

**New Number 6:13 p.m.  
I can certainly try.**

**New Number 6:14 p.m.**  
**:-)**  
**My name is Eddie, by the way.**

Richie grinned, and then put his phone down, and stood up, ready to bash his head into the wall. He took a few heated paces around the small living room. Why was he laughing? God, wasn’t that the story of his life. But really: flirting with a stranger on the internet? Was he _that_ lonely?

It was completely ridiculous and he glanced at his pink-faced reflection, glad his face hadn't yet reached the tone of his shirt. Yet.

He put a hand against his flushed face, and took a deep breath.

This was crazy, this fucking _stupid_ , really. He was going to turn around and pick up her phone and block that number as soon as he could stop fucking grinning. Block the number, drink a beer, find a goddamn hobby.

He stormed back over to his phone, picking it up quickly and with abandon.

 **richie 6:15 p.m.**  
**mine’s richie.**  
**give me a time and place.**

He groaned and dropped his phone on the carpet, glancing at himself in the mirror.

"You," he pointed in the mirror that Greta stole from a Tinder date's house because it was squiggly and cool, "are a fucking nutcase."

"Quit talking to yourself, Richie!" Greta yelled at him from the bathroom.

* * *

 

Eddie had never felt like such an asshole in his entire life. He knew he was a fucking idiot, but this was an entire new level of dumbass-ery. He had put on a dress shirt and then hated himself for it and took it off instantaneously. He put on a t-shirt then, and then realized it was for a bowling league for a town he wasn’t even from, and took it off, too. Then he questioned where he even got that from. He settled on a soft, dark green long sleeve shirt with a pocket on the chest. Which was all well and good, and all, until he realized he was officially going to be five minutes late. At a minimum. And that required the awkward not-speed walking but definitely not regular walking like you did when you waited too long to piss.

He shoved on a coat, picked up his shit, hollered a goodbye to Mike, who he did not tell what he was doing, because he didn’t want Mike to murder him, and booked it from there.

The small strip of shops the place was situated on was cute when it wasn’t freezing and blistering wind and generally slushy, which was approximately never in Boston. He genuinely thought his nose be done, making a full run for it, never to return to his face. He blundered into the shop dramatically like a grade-a asshat, still fumbling with his charliecard which he hadn’t properly put away. The shop of choice, the Thinking Cup, a small, typically overrun, coffee shop, was warm and covered in shades of brown and not as busy as it had been some days. He scanned the room curiously - god, what if he rushed down there and the guy hadn’t even shown? Talk about _idiot_.

He heard a bark of laughter from his sharp left.

He turned quickly to the side. There was a man standing there laughing, but he couldn’t be…  
There was no way he was the guy from the ad. The guy he was staring at most definitely had to have some kind of plans for the holidays- he was too handsome not to.

Eddie looked up at him, even from the distance they were standing. Long-ish black hair, about 26...staring at Eddie’s hands and laughing.

Ah.

Yes.

The entire thing had gone down when he was kind of drunk and he ordered the stuffed horse from amazon prime without a thought about it. When it got there, he thought, fuck it, might as well bring it.

“Lil Sebastian,” the guy greeted the horse dramatically, all but kneeling down-oh, no. He was kneeling. He kneeled in the middle of the fucking coffee shop to greet a stuffed horse. Eddie was associating himself with a psychopath. “I have waited...many years...to make your acquaintance.” He touched the horse in Eddie’s hands.

He looked up at Eddie then, all large, blue eyes behind horn-rimmed glasses and just messy enough black hair, “and your owner’s,” he grabbed Eddie’s hand dramatically. His hands dwarfed Eddie’s, especially when he ran a thumb over the back of it.

Alright. Handsome, but kind of weird.

Eddie couldn’t help it, “eeugh,” he made a charming noise and cringed, trying to withdraw his hand. Only _enchanting_ first impressions when it came to Eddie Kaspbrak.

The guy, who he could only assume was Richie, laughed from his spot on the floor. He popped up in one fluid motion, “let me get you a coffee.” He greeted, changing gears so quickly Eddie barely had time to blink and he thought that he was already having trouble keeping up with Richie.

Eddie held on to the horse like it was his only tether to the space station and he was in the middle of the stars because that’s what it felt like. He didn’t even know what he ordered because he was so distracted, combing over Richie, looking for the flaw. Or, on the other hand, preparing himself for when Richie backed out. Because this was insane! It was impossible.

Eddie downed a quarter of the cup in his hands by the time they even sat down he was so nervous. He didn’t care that his mouth was burning everywhere. He wondered how red the tip of his nose must have been but decided he really didn’t want to know.

Richie was far more good-looking than he expected, tall with broad shoulders and black hair that curled just under his ears. He was dressed somewhat oddly, or wearing an odd shirt, with a press-printed fried egg on the front, under a grey unzipped hoodie. He led them to a relatively secluded table in the corner, sliding in by the wall to sit, sparing a glance around them that they were relatively well

“So, Edster-”

“ _Excuse_ me-”

“Why do you fucking hate your family?” Richie asked, setting his chin in his palms with a dreamy sigh.

Eddie choked on his coffee. “That’s,” he had no idea he could burn his chin on coffee but the world lived to surprise Eddie, “sort of forward.”

“You’re taking me home to meet the family,” Richie raised his eyebrows, “I don’t think we could get more forward if we tried.” Eddie spluttered into his hand. He should really write Cosmo articles, he thought. How to Snag a Man: 1. search craigslist. 2. hack like a dying cat in front of him.

“Fuck, Eddie,” Richie offered him napkins, watching him with crinkled up concern. “Are you gonna make it, or was this all an elaborate scheme to frame me for your death?”

“I’m,” Eddie rasped out, “fine.” He coughed into the offered napkins, and winced. “I’m sorry. This is insane. This is completely insane. You’ve been nice, if” Eddie glanced at his shirt, “weird.” Richie’s smile stretched impossibly further. “But it’s okay. I know you don’t actually want to go with me and deal with my weird cousins or my aunt that smells astonishingly like cottage cheese no matter what anyone tries to do about it, or my homophobic mother. It’s really okay.”

“Oh, no,” Richie corrected him, leaning in further on his elbows with an interested grin, “I’m in. I’m so in.”

Eddie grimaced, “did I tell you we have to make a six hour drive?”

“Did I tell you you _really_ have a way with words?”


	2. Chapter 2

He could see Eddie’s horrified expression and dropped jaw through the speckled window and Richie laughed. He couldn’t even roll down the window. The van didn’t have power windows. He parked by the curb. He unbuckled his seatbelt, and shuffled across to the passenger seat and sung open the door.

“Need a ride?”

“What the  _ hell  _ is this thing?” 

It was once brilliant and Richie would argue it was still pretty damn close. It was bright red and painted with white, and the occasional black, criss-crosses. But that was years ago and it was done by a dodgy guy in a shop in the middle of the desert, according to the former owner. Richie had bought it for himself after his first year of college, celebrating that he lasted even that long.

It was still dark out, but just barely. The sun would be up by the time they hit the highway. They’d be in Maine for a late lunch at the charming home of Sonia Kaspbrak, as Eddie had explained during coffee and during several heated conversations about wardrobe decisions. Richie had his leather jacket, which he admittedly hadn’t touched in a few years, slung over the back of his seat, ready for it to make it’s grand appearance.

Eddie was standing outside his van in a pair of khakis and a puffy coat, looking cold. It was cold. He had a small rolling suitcase that was purple by his feet. Richie reached out of the van, just barely, because he was wearing a black long sleeve t-shirt and grey sweats and that was it, to pick up the suitcase. “Your chariot,” he hefted the case into the van, scooting out of the seat. “My liege.” 

“My mom will kill me for this thing alone,” Eddie clamoured in all the same. He shut the door behind him quickly, exhaling sharply in relief at the warmth of the van.

Richie elegantly tossed the case back with his own beat duffel bag. “We can take your car, if you want.” 

“Oh, I’m not driving if I don’t have to,” Eddie shook his head. “And you’re not driving my car.”   


“I want to be more offended at that, but fair enough.” Richie shrugged, settling back in his own seat. “Are you ready?”   


“Not at all,” Eddie sat down in his seat, looking like he was ready to vomit and throw himself off a roof and he wasn’t sure in which order. “Let’s go.”

“GPS?” Richie asked, picking his phone up from where it sat in between their seats. 

“Don’t need it,” Eddie shook his head, removing his hat. His hair was crumpled underneath, falling into his eyes. “I know the way. Make a left at the end of the block.” 

Richie frowned, but supposed he trusted the small navigator well enough. He dropped his phone. “I’d offer music, but the stereo system is broken. We’re gonna have six hours of sweet, sweet conversation. Or I could sing to you, if you like.”   


“Can you sing?” Eddie yawned, rubbing a fist on his eye.    


“Oh, not at all.”

Eddie laughed under his breath, “it’s a right at the fork,” he told him, unzipping his coat. The van was already warm, and he was wearing a very heavy coat. He slipped it off, revealing a neat green sweater and collared shirt. It seemed terribly stuffy. Richie wondered if Eddie had made a road trip before, but clearly he had. 

“Can this route involve a coffee?” Richie asked. “I didn’t have time this morning.”

“Yeah, Starbucks okay? If so, make the next left.”   


“Damn,” Richie complied, slowing down quickly to accommodate, “you got a mini map up there?” He tapped the side of his temple, turning carefully as the sun began to peak out from behind the buildings. 

“Something like that,” Eddie shared a wry little grin with him.

The Starbucks wasn’t far and Eddie was quiet in the early hours. He slipped into the drive through unpeacefully, because his van always clattered loudly doing basic things. 

Eddie yawned audibly, cupping his hand over his mouth a second too late, “Can I have a vanilla latte?” He asked sleepily.   


“God,” Richie sighed, inhibitions down in the dark, “get cuter, I dare you.” He ordered quickly, pulling around the corner. He winced in the light, sunrise filtering directly into the car without the building to block it.

“It’s a coffee order, not a...bunny...rabbit” Eddie clearly didn’t think of an end to his sentence before he started it. 

“I didn’t think you’d take me up on that dare.” Richie pulled around the corner of the drive through, but couldn’t help but keep his eye on Eddie. “New dare: keep amazing me, Eddie.” 

Eddie flushed, almost orange in the dawning light. “Oh, fuck you, Richie.” He sunk down in his seat with an apparent double, nearly triple, chin. Somehow the orange and the chins only made him maddeningly more attractive. Richie was almost concerned for his own priorities. 

They pulled away from the drive-through, coffee in hand, and Richie brought up what he was stewing over all night. “We need a story.” It was reasonable. If they were going to pretend to be together they must have met somehow.    


“Like,” Eddie’s body was twisted towards his in the passenger’s seat. Their stuff clattered around behind them on the highway. Aside from the front two seats, the back was empty. Richie might have slept back there for a few months. Some people would call it “ _ the lowest point in his life _ ” he would call it “ _ the beginning of a rollercoaster _ .” Like, at least he had made it out of the goddamned line. “...you want me to read something to you?” 

Not what Richie meant, but it was funny. “Yeah, there’s a copy of 50 Shades of Grey under your seat.” 

Eddie actually checked. Richie laughed out loud. 

“I mean like a meet cute.” Richie clarified.    


“Do you ever speak English?”   


“Only on Thursdays.” Eddie huffed. Richie glanced over at him. He looked petulant in the seat next to him, and exhausted. The sun just barely began to greet them beyond the highway. “I meant, how did we, my darling Pretend Boyfriend, meet?” 

“Oh,” a dawn of recognition settled over Eddie. “Bookstore?” Richie looked back to the road, because although he was actually really enjoying memorizing the curve of Eddie’s chin, he didn’t want to kill them. 

“Ah, yeah, you know me:” Richie grinned, “a regular Barnes and Nobles rewards member.”   


“It’s noble.”

“Not picking up a book for seven years?” Richie laughed, dropping a hand off the wheel and settling back in his seat, “I would think so, too.”

“No,” Eddie scoffed, “the name of the store. Barnes and Noble. Singular noble. Uno. Ein. So, bookstore’s out.”   


“Shady bar?” Richie suggested. “I work in one.”   


‘Yeah, you said that,” Eddie sat up, or it sounded like it, next to him. “You do it for fun? How is that possible?”

“They let me pick music and I get a little social interaction. I’m a freelance programmer, not a giant opportunity for companionship.”   


“I’m sure you have plenty of friends,” Richie could hear the eye-roll in Eddie’s voice.

“Oh yeah, Eds?” He lifted an eyebrow, a skill he worked very hard at for three years in high school, feeling the corner of his mouth lift with it as he glanced over at Eddie. 

“Something about me?”   


Eddie avoided the topic clumsily, “my mom gets stressed when I mention drinking.” Eddie paused, thinking it over. “Or going out. Or existing.” 

Richie couldn’t wait to meet the woman that mothered the ball of sexy anxiety in the seat next to him. “About your mother: any ticks? How can I make sure she hates me?”   


“Trust me, she already hates you.”   


“Nice,” Richie sat back with satisfaction, “just like the rest of suburban America.”   


Eddie laughed, a sweet, light sound that Richie caught with his mind, and held on to. 

* * *

It had been an hour since they started driving and Richie hadn’t had a smoke all morning. His leg was bouncing. He really wanted to grab the vape that was sitting in the ashtray under their cups.

“I have as-” Eddie shut his eyes and took a heaving breath. Richie took back towards the road. “No,” Eddie practically hiccuped, “no, I don’t care. It’s fine.”

“What were you gonna say?” Richie asked curiously, changing lanes before he reached for the vape. He wanted it really badly, and took Eddie’s okay as it was.

“Just, like.” He sighed, “fuck it, you’re gonna find out sooner or later. My mom is a really bad hypochondriac.”   


Richie felt an intense need to help the tension that had built up in Eddie’s voice. “The powerhouse of the cell?”

The crystallizing air cracked. Richie took a drag of the vape, cranking down the window to blow the air out into. “No, you fucking-” Eddie laughed in spite of himself. Richie grinned, feeling weirdly accomplished. “She thinks she’s sick. All the time. She’s really paranoid about disease and she used to do the same to me. She convinced me I had asthma as a kid because I wanted to be on the track team. It was…” Richie looked over just in time to catch the end of Eddie’s shiver. “I don’t even want to talk about it.”   


“So, she’d be mad about sex jokes?”   


“Infuriated.”   


“Should I steer clear?” Richie looked back to the road, shuffling in the seat. He was just starting to hit the time where sitting down that long was uncomfortable.

“Oh, please don’t.” Eddie sat up again, tapping his hands nervously on his thighs. He looked out the window quickly as he thought over his next statement. “I don’t know. Just thinking of it gets me so worked up I-” he adjusted his collar nervously, “she ruined so much of my life that I just,” he grabbed at something that wasn’t there, fists curling in his lap, “just like. Fuck it. Let’s give her hell.” 

Richie nodded, gripping the wheel harder. That he could do. 

* * *

“So, are ghosts real?” They were about half way there, three hours in, and Eddie was shifting so uncomfortably in his pressed pants. He knew anything involving starch wasn’t brilliant for a road trip but he...maybe wanted to look nice.

It was fucking ridiculous and it was gonna make a horrible idea worse but Richie was decent looking and kind...sort of, maybe. Eddie inwardly groaned at himself. 

“I don’t know,” Eddie replied shortly. 

“What kind of answer is that? Are they real or not?”

“Well, in my opinion-” 

“That’s not what I asked. What is this, a college admissions essay?” Eddie’s collar was itching at him. He messed with it uncomfortably. “Are they real or not?”   


“I’m not fucking…” Eddie spluttered, searching for an acceptable answer, itching the inside of his cuff, “God, or something. I don’t know.”   


“I didn’t mean like...real as in the terms of the holy universe,” Richie made a bizarre, sweeping gesture with one of his hands. Eddie’s first impression somewhat remained intact. Handsome, but weird. “I meant in terms of your own personal truth. That’s the only way things ever really are, anyway.” 

“Did you swallow a sociology book before getting in this car?”   


“I’m bored, answer my question.”

Eddie squinted at him. “Yes, then. I guess. Maybe.” He shifted again, feeling the seams of his pants really dig at him. Richie hummed in response. “Well, then, what about you?”

“What about me?”

“What do you mean?” Eddie knew Richie wasn’t high and somehow still questioned if he was, “are ghosts real?”   


“Oh,” Richie hummed, shrugging. “I dunno.”   


“WHAT? THAT’S BULLSHIT!” Eddie had a habit of escalating things that did not need escalated, like he had built an escalator to go up a fairly small hill, “I answered the question!” He was also just irritated because he was uncomfortable and fidgeting after sitting so long.

“When did I promise you an answer to the question?” Richie raised his eyebrows, laugh tempted to dance out of his mouth as he looked over at Eddie. 

Richie furrowed his brow at Eddie’s awkward shifting. “Do I need to stop at a rest stop?” He asked, trying and failing to sound gentle.

Eddie groaned and dropped his face in his hands, “no, asshole.” Richie laughed.

“Uncomfortable?” Richie asked. “Why are you wearing that? I’m gonna change in the back when we get there. 

“Not much I can do about it now,” Eddie tried determinedly to stop fidgeting. Convincing oneself not to fidget when you want to fidget is a task that rivals olympic swimming, Eddie thought. 

“Change in the back.” Richie nodded towards the back. 

Eddie gave him a flat, irritated look. 

“Oh, yes, Eddie-” Richie rolled his eyes, “I am clearly trying to get a peek at you while operating an enormous motor metal death trap. You caught me.” Richie snorted at his own joke. Eddie rolled his eyes. 

“I don’t want to open my whole suitcase in the van, it’ll get messed up.”

“Borrow some of my stuff, then,” Richie offered. His tone was almost teasing. Like he was challenging Eddie, but he’d never actually change clothes in the middle of a busy turnpike in a shady van. “I have an extra pair of sweats and a hoodie in the duffle.” Richie offered as if it were a theoretical thing, like a teasing temptation that Eddie would never take him up on. 

The tone annoyed Eddie. “Okay.” He unbuckled his seatbelt before he lost his nerve. 

“Wait, really?” Eddie crouched, grabbing Richie’s seat for stability, and taking a heaping breath. 

“What, you didn’t think I would?” Eddie asked, letting himself have his somewhat smug, cheeky smile.

“I…” Richie dropped off, a smile of his own gracing his mouth. “I don’t know what I think of you, Eddie Kaspbrak. You’re never what I expect, but I’m never surprised.”

It was dangerous and difficult and terrible but Eddie thought that just maybe that weird little smirk and whatever that sentence was supposed to mean might have been worth it. 

* * *

“Okay, so I have three aunts on my mom’s side.” Eddie was way happier in Richie’s pants. That didn’t come out like he thought it would, even in his own mind.

“Gotcha.” Richie yawned. Eddie winced. They had a long day ahead of them. “Any uncles?”

“Only by marriage.”

“Grandparents?”   


“Dead.” 

“Understood. So, first off: Vera.” He winced at his own mental image of the woman. It wasn’t her size or her age, it was her outright refusal to accept either. She frequently wore Disney branded clothing from the teen section of Kohls that certainly did not fit. “She’s single.”

“Nice, I’ll grab her number.”   


Eddie shuddered, “I don’t know if that would make anyone mad. My mom would be so happy. Vera has this weird complex about her name, and used to freak out on me if I called her anything but ‘Auntie V.’” 

Richie made a an eugh noise, “why?”

“I think it was some sort of complex about never having kids of her own. She doesn’t know how old she is, and I don’t think she knows how old I am either.”   


“It’s hard to tell, with that cutie face of yours-”

“Richie.”   


“Sorry.”

“So,” Eddie continued, ignoring the small swell of something or other in his chest, “then there’s Roberta. Recently divorced, if you ask her. If you ask a sane person, they’d say it’s been six years.” Richie laughed. “She’s been going for ‘thirty, flirty and thriving’ for about thirty years too long. Lots of lipstick, lots of animal print.”

“Love a cougar.”   


“I will run this van off the road.” Richie laughed again, and Eddie kept his eyes on the white painted lines tumbling ahead of them. 

“I love it, we’ve been together for five hours,” Richie reached blindly in between them, nabbing Eddie’s hand from his lap, “and we’re already planning a mutual suicide pact.”  He tugged the hand back to him. It was an uncomfortable reach, the van had lots of space in between them and Eddie’s arms were much shorter than Richie’s. Richie pressed a kiss into his knuckles. Eddie didn’t know what to do with that. He knew Richie was kidding, it was what he asked him to do.

“Your presence just brings it out in me,” Eddie replied dryly. Richie squeezed his fingers when he laughed.

“She has two kids.” He coughed uncomfortably, tugging his hand back to his own lap. Richie glanced down at it, like he was considering letting Eddie take his hand with him there. Eddie didn’t want to picture that, them driving down the road, one of Richie’s hands on his thighs. Their hands dropped in between them. “Oscar is eight. Lucy is twelve. They’re…” Eddie sighed, calling it for what it was, “they’re spoilt brats that get everything they want.”   


“I’ll call them Thing One and Thing Two,” Richie nodded. Eddie laughed, he’d love to see Roberta’s face if he tried that. He hated he had to see it at all, see any of them. His breath hitched a little, and he glanced out the window. They were definitely in Maine alright, landscape by the highway covered in trees.

When he looked back to Richie, he was looking at him. “One more?” He prompted.

“Oh, yeah. Only really decent one: Anya. She’s married to a nice, very boring man named Carl. She’s an accountant. I don’t know how Carl makes a life. I don’t particularly care. Carl can talk, literally for hours, about vintage cars. They didn’t really care when my mom outed me.”

“Oh, hey,” Richie looked over with a loose smile, “that’s nice!”

“Only problem is their kid is the biggest piece of shit in the world.” Eddie countered quickly.

“Oh.”

“Literally, I think their son Devon, who’s a year younger than me, thought the only way to get a bigger dick when we were growing up was to make fun of me.” Eddie hated him. He was a bulky guy and used that to his every advantage when they were growing up. 

“In what way?”

“Calling me a girl,” Eddie rolled his eyes, tucking his feet up under him in the sweats. “Challenging me to stuff he knew he’d beat me at. I wasn’t allowed to play sports. Devon was allowed to be shitty at them,” Richie laughed, and Eddie’s face broke into a smile. “He’s a homophobic piece of shit and also he just, like, sucks. Regardless.” Eddie blinked at a passing road-sign. “Our exit is next.”

“Is it? Jesus,” Richie breathed.

“Here we go.”

* * *

“Make a right at the end of the block.” Eddie instructed, nervously running his palms over the sweats. He was over-thinking the entire thing, he knew it. But he was going to bring a basic stranger into a house filled with his insane family. God, what if they didn’t even believe they were dating. Fuck, that would be humiliating.

He glanced over at Richie, feeling like Richie would be a relatively anything goes individual. Eddie would have preferred to let him take the lead on the whole thing, but had a feeling that would land them in disaster. 

“What’s on your mind, Squid?’

“...squid?!”

Richie blinked, like he himself didn’t really know where that one came from. “I was thinking about the nickname Eddie Spaghetti and then spaghetti itself, it’s pretty slimey, kind of like tentacles-” he shook his head. “You know what, doesn’t matter.”   


“...don’t call me squid.”

“Normally I’d argue with you, but,” Richie made the right turn. “Yeah. It’s a pretty fucking stupid nickname.”   


“Ugh,” Eddie groaned and shoved his face in his hands, “ _ nicknames _ .” Richie pulled up to a stop sign in the neighborhoods. They were less than 10 minutes away. “Couple-y stuff.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “We’re never gonna be believable.” 

“Sure we are,” Richie shrugged lightly, turning in his seat. His shoulders cracked loudly as he did so. 

“How?!” Eddie demanded, “We’ve spent like...8 hours together and,” he twiddled his thumbs nervously together. “Barely know each other and I’m just-” Richie grabbed his chin. 

Eddie barely had time to blink before Richie dragged him over to his side of the car, and kissed him gently. Eddie squeaked in surprise, what the fu- was this going to be a thing? What the fuck was he doing!? 

Richie dropped him quickly with a casual shrug. “I think we’ll be plenty believable.” He replied in a low confident voice. Eddie’s thoughts, for some reason, were interrupted with a very gratifying mental image of shoving Richie out through the driver’s door, stealing that van, and driving away to start a new life as a seashell painted in a junky seaside town. 

Richie’s eyes were still on him. 

“Why aren’t you driving?” Eddie evaded in an off, awkward, voice. 

“You haven’t told me which way to go.”

* * *

When they pulled up to the curb of his parent's house, his heart was beating loudly. He couldn't tell if Richie could just sense the nerves or if he too was feeling the anxiety. It was a weird situation. 

"Okay, well," Richie said as he shut off the car. "Do you think we should, like, lay out some ground rules here?" 

Eddie was so flustered thinking about the mere presence of his mother in the house, already looming over him, that he couldn't think of Richie in the moment. The idea of saying you can kiss me but not for too long or fuck it, kiss me as much as you want this is already ridiculous and he stopped caring sometime in New Hampshire, "Rule Number One: I'm not making up rules with you." He hopped out of the van, feeling his feet shaky under him after sitting so long, "rule one and one half: don't fall in love with me." He shut the van door without another word. 

" _Eddie_?" An incredulous voice asked him from his porch. He whipped around, realizing he was still drowning in Richie's sweats. His mother, who hadn't even spoken yet, and was just staring at him with slack-jawed awe, the speaker, Auntie V, Roberta's two kids, and Devon, were all standing on the porch. 

"Mom!" He heard Richie exclaim from the other side of the van, slamming shut the door loudly. He practically sprung around the corner, "God, have I been waiting to meet you," he smacked Eddie's ass as he passed him and Eddie jolted, feeling some delightful mix of mortified and rapt attention. Richie basically skipped to the porch. "Come, greet your new son-in-law. Ha!" He laughed loudly, and by himself, "I'm kidding, can you imagine?" Eddie's family continued to gape. "Where are your fire exits?" He asked in a more serious tone.

The only one whose eyes stayed on Eddie for the entire ordeal was Devon. His eyes were on Eddie's sweat pant clad legs. Eddie glanced down at them. Sure, it wasn't as if Eddie commonly wore purple sweatpants, but he didn't think it was that strange. He turned back of the van, because he didn't know what to do but to grab their stuff. As he turned, he caught a small glimpse of something behind him. He turned, twisting his body, so he could stare in horror at his own ass. It was backwards, and difficult to read in the reflection of the busy pattern of the car, but Eddie was fairly certain the pants said NASTY in capital letters across his ass. 

Happy birthday, Jesus. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next update at midnight so ?   
> (ur comments mean everything to me. fajlk;sd i sweart to god im gonna finish this by the end of tomorrow or it will sit in the void forever. ur encouragements help me so so much. i love y'all)


	3. Chapter 3

Richie was vaguely aware he was given descriptions of all of these people but he couldn’t remember for shit which was which. There was a large woman in front of him, who he only could assume was Eddie’s mom, as soon as she stopped gaping at him, turned on heel and stormed into her house.

“Charming!” Richie joked to her back. There was a guy on his right relatively close to his own age, beefy with an awkward haircut and a jaw filled with acne. He had an incredibly sour expression. Richie didn’t even want to begin dealing with that. The other woman on the porch dashed after Eddie’s mom. He turned to the kids. The girl had her face tucked into a phone, greasy blonde hair pulled back in a too-tight ponytail. The boy was trying his hardest to wiggle out of what Richie was sure was an itchy shirt.

“Sup, monkeys?” He asked.

“I’m not a monkey,” the boy replied bitterly. The girl stared at him over her phone. He put on his best winning smile. 

“You know monkeys don’t have feet, they have two sets of hands.” Richie scrunched his hands in the kids direction. The girl scoffed at him.

“That’s not true,” she rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, it is,” Richie replied in the same irritating tone, rolling his own eyes. Because starting a fight with children was everyone’s Christmas tradition. He turned to look out into the quaint suburb. All houses that look the same, stacked into neat rows. Eddie was still standing there, looking petrified, by the van.

“Later, snot-noses.” He turned, and did a soft jog towards him. The closer he got, the more panicked Eddie looked. He had barely moved since getting out, just shaking in the same place.

“Whoa, Eddie.” Richie grabbed his forearms. Eddie looked like he was ready to worry himself into the ground. 

“I hate this, Richie,” Eddie admitted honestly. “Being here at all. Maybe we should just go home.”   


“Hey, hey,” Richie soothed because he didn’t know what else to do. “We don’t have enough gas for that.” He ran his hands up Eddie’s arms, past his elbows and grabbed on. He told himself it was because the family might be watching him from the inside.   


Eddie laughed wetly, and took a deep breath. 

“You go in there, you say hi to everyone. I’ll get the stuff, and we’re gonna do some fucking Christmas, okay?” 

“Yeah.” Eddie nodded, swallowing and exhaling all at once, “okay.”

There was nothing Richie enjoyed more than slipping into a character. This one suited him, as it was so close to who he was, raunchy bi man from the city set on terrorizing heterosexuals. The only real difference was this guy was in love with Eddie Kaspbrak. Which, watching Eddie fidget in his own home, ignored thus far by his family, didn’t seem that far off from reality either.

“Where can I put these, baby?” Richie asked loudly, duffle bag slung over his shoulder and suitcase in hand. 

“In my room is fine,” Eddie replied, seeming distant and distracted. 

“EDWARD KASPBRAK,” Eddie winced, as he was watching the tide draw back and it just crashed over them. Sonia appeared around the corner. She was wearing an absurdly cheery green sweater with small christmas light look decorations around the collar, “your-” she shook a furious hand in Richie’s direction, fumbling with what to call him. “FRIEND,” ouch, “is NOT sleeping in your room.” 

“My  _ boyfriend _ ,” Eddie corrected defensively, wrapping himself into Richie, “has slept with me,” damn. Nice wording, Kaspbrak, “plenty of times.” For a moment, he put his chin on Richie’s chest so only he could see the wide-eyed, worried look in his eyes. Is this okay, his expression asked, as he said “upstairs, second door on the left.” 

Richie kissed him chastely and hoped that was enough of an answer to his question. He looked away from Eddie quickly, hauling the bags up the stairs, noticing the flush on Eddie’s face as he turned. He smiled smugly to himself for a moment, but the moment was destroyed by the shrieking of Sonia. 

“Oh, Eddie that is DISGUSTING, it is FLU SEASON-”   


“It has nothing to do with flu season and you damn well know it, mothe-”

“You WILL NOT curse in my household, young man-”

Eddie’s reply was mumbled and indistinguishable, and Sonia’s shrill voice won out. 

“Have you  _ even  _ been taking your pills?!”   


“NO, Mom, I-” Richie opened the door he was instructed to. He grinned. It was every inch a sheltered child’s bedroom. It was painted light blue and had a shelf with dusty books on it and family photos. He snorted and set down the bags. He shook his hands out, they cramped up at some point in time. 

“YOU’RE GOING TO GET HORRIBLY-”

“Mom, Mom! I’m FINE!”

He admired a photo of a three year old Eddie dressed as a pumpkin with a man in the background. Eddie had not yet mentioned a Dad at all. He was tempted to just hide out up there but that was truly not what he was there to do. Hell, all of these people could hate him, and what would he care? He’d never have to see them again. Or Eddie… But he hated that thought, so he shook it out of his mind. When he stepped back out of the door, he almost full out collided with someone he hadn’t yet met.

“WELL YOU KNOW WHAT THEY SAY, EDDIE-”

“NO, NO I DON’T, MOM. WHY DON’T YOU REMIND ME-”

“AH!” She practically cried, smacking him with what looked like a child’s coat. He jumped back, closing the door behind him. “Oh, GOD,” she pressed a hand over her chest. “Ya’ scared me, kid.” 

“My face has that effect on people, sorry.” He joked self-deprecatingly. “It’s amazing I have a boyfriend.” She heaved a great breath, throwing the jacket over her arm. Her other hand was holding a cup, and she took a big sip of it. “I’m Richie.” 

“So, you’re with…”   


“Eddie?” Richie couldn’t believe this woman could forget her nephew’s name.

“You hardly seem queer,” she eyed him carefully.

“Sorry, I left the rainbow hot pants in the car.” He rolled his eyes. He didn’t mind the word queer when it came from one of them, but hated the way it sounded in her mouth. She smiled, begrudgingly, and eyed him, as if she was considering hitting on him anyway. Richie shivered.

“IT’S ALWAYS MORE DANGEROUS WITH PEOPLE LIKE YOU-”   


“WHAT PEOPLE LIKE ME, MOM? SAY IT.”

“What are you drinking?” Richie asked, eyeing her coffee cup warily because of the heavy scent of Bailey’s on her breath. 

“Hot chocolate.”   


He raised his eyebrows.

“With a kick.” 

“AND SHARING A BED IS UNSANITARY ENOUGH-”

“OH, IT GETS A LOT MORE UNSANITARY FROM THERE, MOTHER-”   


“EDWARD!”   


Richie cracked what he considered was a charming grin, “nice. You can do better than that, though.” He crossed his arms and leaned back on the door. She was wearing an ill-fitting bright red knitted sweater dress and over the knee boots that were very in style but not for women her age. Her hair was pulled back with a headband with small antlers on it and she had on bright red lipstick that was slightly smudged, and all over the rim in the cup.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Kahula, cinnamon, heavy cream and vodka. Much better drink,” he nodded.

“You drink a lot?” She asked noncommittally, not as if she were defensive over her nephew, but plainly curious.

“I make them.” 

“Hey,” a man leaned out of a room, looking down the stairs worriedly. “It’s already started, Roberta?” His eye caught Richie’s. “Hi!” He greeted, Richie’s first warm welcome since setting foot on the property, “I’m Carl.” He offered his hand to Richie. He shook it.

“Richie,” he greeted. “I’m dating Edd-”   


“YOU’RE DOING THIS TO PUNISH ME, AREN’T YOU? YOUR WHOLE ‘GAY’ THING IS JUST A TOOL TO GET BACK AT ME-”   


“That is COMPLETELY ridiculous and ENTIRELY unfair-”   


“So I’ve heard,” Carl responded with a wry little grin. “I’m gonna go intervene, I wish Anya were here. She’s better at it. But she went down to the shop for a moment.”   


“I’ll be your first mate, Captain,” Richie saluted him, and then gestured towards the stairs, “after you.” Richie had been so distracted by the people he had barely noticed the house. It was larger than he was expecting but hardly clean. There were odd piles, stacks of newspapers and magazines, empty boxes and weird knick-knacks, seemingly everywhere. There was some Christmas decorations sprinkled over it, as if someone had slammed a holiday wreath on a dumpster and called it a day. 

“Hey, Eddie!” Carl greeted cheerily from the top, interrupting whatever hot-headed thing was about to tumble out next. “Glad to see ya’, sport.” He jauntily hopped down the steps. “Did you get taller?”   


“No.” Eddie replied flatly. Carl laughed and rustled his hair, adjusting his glasses on his face. 

“You seem taller.”

“You always say that,” Eddie replied with a mirthful smile, “and we both know it’s not true. Hi, Uncle Carl.” They hugged with a disjointed, awkward energy. Eddie truly seemed to appreciate Carl’s effort. “Hi Aunt Roberta.” He waved behind Richie. Roberta did not reply, and Richie did not look back to see her.   


“Sonia, how’s the casserole coming?” Carl tried to maneuver the conversation. 

“It’d be going better if Anya could come back from the store, already.” She replied huffily. Richie noticed for the first time, the nervous woman on her right. She was wearing a shirt with a Christmas Eeyore on it. She was twiddling her hands in front of her, her hair pulled back into two clips on the side of her head. Carl nodded sympathetically, but seemingly didn’t have a response. The room was tense for a moment. Richie noticed the kids had disappeared. 

“Devon, did you see your cousin is here?” Carl called around the corner to a small sitting room after a moment.    


“Oh, I saw alright.” An amused voice came back. Richie squinted with irritation, taking a few steps forward and shuffling himself in between Carl and Eddie, wrapping an arm over his shoulder.

“Well!” Carl swallowed uncomfortably, “you boys must be exhausted. Five hour drive, you said?”   


“Closer to six,” Eddie nodded, faking a yawn. 

“What time did you say dinner would be, Sonia, Vera?”   


“Four thirty.” Vera answered, nodding quickly.   


“Five,” Roberta corrected, finally stepping the rest of the way down the stairs. “It’s always five. You always say four thirty, and then it’s five.” She finished her mug. Richie sighed. 

“Still, plenty of time for a lie down, if you’d like, Eddie!” Carl diverted. Eddie’s hand reached up and laced his fingers through the hand Richie had dangling over his shoulder. “Can I help you in the kitchen, ladies?”   


“Well, Carl, I was actually thinking-”   


“A nap sounds great.” Eddie cut off his mother.  “Coming, sweetheart?” He asked Richie, twirling out from under his arm but keeping their fingers laced together. 

"Eddie, you're awfully young to be-" Vera cut into the conversation uninvited. Carl held up a dismissing hand, almost forcing the conversation to a halt. Also, Eddie was not awfully young to be doing anything, he was a full grown adult. Richie couldn't help but squint at her, but he turned his attention back to Eddie quickly.

Richie nodded and ignored his heart’s flutter at his nickname. He let Eddie lead them up the stairs, not pausing for another look, even when Carl hurried over to comfort Eddie’s mother. Of course, she was the one who his family thought needed comfort in that situation.

“It’s just, it’s disgusting, Carl-”   


“I know it is, Sonia-”    


And there it was. It always came out. Eddie’s hand tightened in his like a death grip and they trot up the stairs.

“I’m gonna lose feeling in these fingers,” Richie joked. Eddie sighed and spared a glance for him, looking down the stairs in the moment after. He dropped his hand and leaned back on his bedroom door with a heaving sigh. 

“She’s so awful.” He shoved his face into his hands. “I’m so sorry I brought you here.”   


“What?” Richie countered, shoving his hands into his pockets and walking up to Eddie. They were speaking quietly, so Richie stood closer than he normally would have. “Hey, now. I’m having a great time. Your one aunt is boozy as fuck, by the way.”

“I wish I was,” Eddie joked. Richie laughed, planting one of his hands behind Eddie’s head. 

“We’re surviving,” Richie reminded him. He pinched his cheek, “and you look so cute when you’re all red.”   


“Ugh, god, Richie,” he wiggled, but his first genuine smile since setting foot in Maine graced his face, “stop.”

There was an awkward coughing noise behind him.

The guy from outside, who he could only assume was Devon, was making his presence known. “Excuse me,” He asked, although neither of them were in his way, regardless of where he was going, unless it was into Eddie’s room. 

“You’re excused.” Eddie replied curtly. His fists curled into Richie’s shirt. He really hated that guy, Richie could tell by the tenseness in his brow. Devon opened his mouth and then snapped it shut, shuffling past the two of them. 

“You know,” Devon said as soon as Richie had turned back to Eddie, well past them down the hall. “Your whole...thing might go better if you didn’t shove it in everyone’s face.” Richie snapped his head in his direction. He felt his blood boil. He knew men like Devon. He was reminded of when they were pretty fond of bashing his face in middle school. It only happened one time, but it sat with him for years. Men like Devon felt entitled to every space, and demanded their own comfort. Hell, he’d probably like to police what Eddie did in his own goddamned room.

“No offense,” Devon said after a minute of them not responding. He was the one who followed them up the stairs.

“Full offense:” Richie replied plainly, “but stop looking.” And then he took the liberty of crashing his mouth into Eddie’s. Eddie squeaked in response, but kissed back with equal fervor. God, it was a terrible kiss, entirely ungentle and completely unplanned. Richie was pretty sure Eddie’s tongue was somewhere near his teeth and Eddie tasted like stale coffee. Eddie fumbled behind himself for the door handle, and they fell into his bedroom.

“Fucking faggots,” he heard Devon growl down the hall. “Disgusting.”

It was funny and it wasn’t, the outright disgust in the household for everything he and Eddie were. It was about their fake relationship, and it wasn’t, because Richie did like men, thank you  _ very  _ much. He couldn’t separate himself fully from their behavior. It was an attack on him, and an intimate part of himself, as much as it was anything else. And he could tell himself it didn’t hurt, but that wasn’t true. That sneering look in that kid’s face reminded him of so many familiar faces. He was about to show them how disgusting fags could get. 

“Your door doesn’t lock.” Richie noted with amusement after he shut it, picking up his bag from the floor. He was struck with an idea quickly and had to move fast.

“Of course it doesn't. Why would it lock, Richie?” Eddie replied, knowing full well the screaming match he just had with his mother. He looked flustered, probably because Richie had just kissed him within an inch of his life. 

“Do you have a favorite Christmas song?” Richie asked in a hushed voice, dumping the contents of the duffle out on Eddie’s bed. Eddie winced. Richie shifted through rumpled clothes until he found what he was looking for, a small speaker.

“Uh, yeah.” Eddie swallowed “‘Merry Christmas, Darling.’”

“And to you,” Richie winked, “but what’s the song?” 

Eddie threw a pillow at him. Richie laughed. “It’s not gonna work for what I’m thinking, anyway.” He grabbed his phone out of pocket and plugged it directly into the speaker. For a moment, Eddie just squinted at him as soft bells played, if a bit loudly, in his room. They gave way quickly to a rough guitar riff, and Richie all but jumped across the room, kicked Eddie’s bed frame so it slammed into the wall and moaned louder than decently, “Oh,  _ FUCK _ , Eddie.” 

“What are you-” Eddie grabbed his arms, looking scandalized over even a  _ fake  _ sex noise.

Richie smirked down at him, “we’re having a lie-down,” he ran his hand through the shorter hairs on the sides of Eddie’s head till he reached long enough pieces to grab, “baby.” He tugged down sharply, earning the noise he wanted, a shocked grunt that tapered off into something more high pitched.

“ _ Ow _ , oh  _ god- _ ”

Eddie got the point very quickly after that, and he almost laughed as his eyebrows shot into his hairline. He shoved Richie’s stuff off his bed, and Richie might have pretended to be mad about that at another time, but stood on it, and began to jump. 

Richie almost laughed as the two continued to make gratuitous moaning noises, ocassionally pushing the bed directly into the wall. The guitar contined to play on as the band sang about getting mugged by children dressed as Santa. 

“Fuck, Eddie, baby-” Richie threw in for good merit, winking when Eddie turned back around, pink-faced from the jumping or maybe the words.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “ _ give it to me, _ Richie.” He said, half to Richie, how to the door itself, neck cranked up oddly.

“Yeah, you like that?” Richie almost choked on his own words, dirty-talking feeling fucking ridiculous fully clothed, more so than it did naked.

“Yeah,” Eddie replied breathily, not loudly enough for anyone in the house to hear them. He stopped jumping as the music changed, new song blasting through. He took a deep breath and planted his hands on his knees. Jumping took more effort than it seemed. 

“Fuck, I’m tired,” Eddie admitted in a small voice, dropping his hands on to Richie’s shoulders. Richie brought his hands to rest on Eddie’s hips, to balance him, of course. Actually, no. Eddie was just sexy as fuck, but that was a problem for another time. “How long do we have to do this for?”   


“Well, I’m topping, and I last 20 minutes at  _ least _ ,” Richie insisted.

“Richie, oh my god,” he choked.   


“You were the one who shouted out  _ ‘give it to me _ ,’” Richie reminded him.

“Then _ do it, _ ” Eddie squinted at him cheekily, before slamming his hand on the wall, “FUCK, yes!” He grabbed Richie’s shirt with his other hand and dragged him up onto the bed. They jumped together for an entire other song, until Richie was feeling his breath catch in his own throat. He started to wheeze as well, and fell off the bed, clamoring over to his phone to change the next song and choose a new playlist. “Our fuck is going to get slower.” He told him in a hushed voice.

“Oh, we’re making love now?” Eddie asked, referencing the much gentler piano filling the air between them.

“Yeah,” Richie looked back and smiled when Eddie’s eyes met his, “something like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pacing??? literally never heard of her!!! i'm just gonna start posting the chunks of this i have and call it a night or a fanfiction!! bc i'm insecure and i keep rewriting what i have !!! idek whats wrong with me!! trash!!


	4. Chapter 4

Eddie woke up in a room by himself forty minutes after falling asleep. “Mm, Richie?” He asked, looking around and rubbing a hand on his eye. He was more exhausted than he thought he would be after all the jumping, and they did decide to actually lay down for a little while.  He sat up on his bed, sitting cross-legged and staring around at the disarray. There were Richie’s clothes all over the floor, and his own planned outfit for the day was amongst it, crumpled and ruined. He sighed and crossed the room, grabbing his own bag to open up and grab a pair of black dress pants out of. He put on a dark green dress shirt with it, already mourning the loss of the comfortable sweats.

On the floor, he eyed a comfortable looking navy knitted reindeer sweater. It was Richie’s, so it looked too large, and smelled slightly off, but he slid it over his head anyway and hoped Richie wouldn’t mind.

He clamoured down the stairs, wrinkling his nose self consciously at the sound of laughter. He peered into the sitting room. Richie was sitting there on the couch his mother always sat on, and sitting opposite of him was Vera and Roberta, respectively. They were laughing, Roberta especially pink-faced and holding a glass of wine a lot less full than Richie’s. Vera was laughing too, but more modestly, giggling into her hand. Richie had changed, too. He was wearing a pair of pants that skirted the line in between jeans and slacks, and a white collared shirt.

“There’s my handsome man!” Richie greeted cheerily, scooting over on the couch so there was free space. He opened his arm out to Eddie. “How was the nap?” The laughter stopped, and both of his aunts’ back tensed.

“Good, good,” he nodded. He crossed self-consciously. He didn’t know how he himself had managed to suck all of the positive energy out of the room, but it made his stomach turn. He grabbed Richie’s hand and used the entire thing as a passable excuse to flop half on top of him. He, so far, was not doing a good job at reminding himself that this relationship was fake.

“Want a glass of wine?” Richie asked, grabbing his leg. Eddie wished he were still wearing the sweats and could properly curl into Richie. “Hey,” he grabbed his sweater sleeve. “Is this mine?”

Eddie suddenly felt sheepish, and very aware of the room’s eyes on him.

“Yeah,” he faked some confidence, giving Richie a playful look. “Some idiot stuffed mine into a duffle bag.” Richie laughed and did not call him out on how both sweaters were in the same duffle bag.

He wrapped an arm over his shoulder and kissed his temple, “looks better on you.”

“Most things do,” he replied snappily. Richie laughed again and Eddie’s heart was light.

“So,” and there that happy feeling went, “when did this whole…” Roberta shifted forward, waving her glass of wine in their direction “ _thing_ start?”

“Four months ago,” Richie lied confidently. “Although, with this handful,” he jabbed Eddie playfully, “feels like a lifetime.”

Roberta smiled, but it didn’t meet her eyes. “Do you two live together?”

“We want to,” Eddie jumped in. “Waiting for leases to end.”

“So are my neighbors,” Richie winked raucously. “Been driving them nuts,” He jostled Eddie, who batted him away with a laugh.

Auntie V coughed uncomfortably. “I think I’ll set the table.” She stood up curtly, and made a hasty exit from the room. She had yet to say a real word to Eddie since he had arrived.

“I’ll help,” Roberta followed quickly, clutching her glass of wine. Eddie shifted uncomfortably on the awful couch. For the enormous amount of time his mother spent on it, it truly was attrocious, itchy, old fabric and lumpy. He sighed as soon as they left, and pressed his face into Richie’s neck.

“My family likes you more than me,” he whispered into his neck, shutting his eyes and noticing they brushed against his skin.

“They’re gone, Eddie.” Richie reminded him, an odd tone to his voice. Eddie didn’t know if he was talking about the whispering, or the physical closeness, but he removed himself from Richie’s side anyway.

“They were laughing,” he situated himself a decent distance away on the couch. “Everything was okay until I showed up.”

“No,” Richie chastised him, “everything was okay until they remembered I’m a big fat queer.” He downed the rest of his glass. He stood, and stretched his arms over his head. Eddie noticed the abundance of mail piled on the coffee table and sighed. His mom must have started signing up for all sorts of subscriptions again. 

"Hey, uh," Eddie awkwardly coughed. "We didn't really talk about this, but I figured you could sneak out tonight and grab a hotel room after everyone's asleep. On me, of course."

"Oh, uh." Richie blinked. 

"I just figured you wouldn't want to, like, share my bed, it's only a full,"

"Well, I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable-"

"But if you wanted to take my bed, I'll take the floor, it's no big deal-"

"Well, I'm not letting you sleep on the floor-"

"Well, you're the guest here, and I know you wouldn't want to share-"

"It doesn't make me uncomfortable at all, but it's your bed, so I understand if-"

"Eddie!" A call interrupted their rambled back and forth. Eddie let himself smile, actually smile. He recognized the voice, the voice of his Aunt Anya. "Did I hear you're up?"

"Later?" He asked Richie. Richie nodded with absolute agreement, and Eddie rounded the corner, moving quicker than he had all day. She was standing in the middle of the room. 

“Eddie!” She greeted warmly. She was his favorite of his aunts, if not his entire family. She hugged him. She had gained weight since he’d seen her last, probably the largest of her sisters, and was lovely and radiant in her red Christmas dress, adorned in small reindeer and Christmas gnomes. Her hair was curled and clipped out of her face. She had Eddie’s eyes, large and brown, and a kind, soft smile.

“Anya!” He sounded as relieved as he felt as he hugged her.

“Edward,” his mother really had a knack for destroying everything, “don’t disrespect your aunt, it’s Aunt Anya.”

“It’s fine, Sonny,” Anya replied easily. Her eyes fell behind Eddie, undoubtedly on Richie over Eddie’s shoulder, “you must be Richie.” She, Eddie realized with a pleased flush, was reaching out to hug him, too. “I’ve heard so much about you,” she teased as she released him. Her tone was light, but filled with understanding. Her eyes had what Eddie could only describe as a twinkle in them. 

“Yeah, well, who hasn’t?” Richie smugly, “certainly not the Boston Police Department, that’s who.”

Whatever serving utensil his mother was holding, it clattered to the floor. Eddie rubbed his nose to avoid laughing out loud. At least Anya laughed.

* * *

“So, Eddie,” Carl asked kindly, sprinkling a little bit of salt into his hand. He then pinched from the pile and sprinkled it over the chicken. Eddie could have groaned aloud. “How did you two meet?”

“Trash,” Eddie replied at the same time Richie said

“Bar.”

They stopped and looked at each other nervously. Eddie had no idea what kind of answer trash was supposed to be. They never settled on a story in the car, too busy arguing about what color teal actually was.

Richie laughed, a loud, fake sounding noise to Eddie, grabbing his chin. “He hates this story,” he said casually, like they had told it before. “I was working late at my job at the bar,” Richie explained, turning back to the couple across the table. There was an ornate painting of fruit behind their heads. Eddie hated it. Eddie had no idea what it was about fruit that made pretentious people want to spend a laborious amount of time copying it on to paper, but they should really find a new subject. “I was taking out the last load of trash for the night. And I found this one,” he poked Eddie’s side, “very upset outside by the dumpster, very convinced his...what was it, babe?”

“My phone, remember? It’s why I was by myself.”

“Right, ha!” Richie grabbed Eddie’s knee. Eddie didn’t know why. No one would be able to see it. “Was in the trash. Luckily, I am born of trash myself, so I went in there and looked.”

“My garbage hero,” Eddie grabbed the hand on his knee, not knowing why he was doing it either, and kissed Richie’s cheek.

“Wasn’t in there, of course.” Richie wrapped his arm around Eddie.

Eddie groaned, a fake sounding noise. He wasn’t as good an actor as Richie, “it was in my coat pocket, of course. I forgot I had worn a coat out to dinner with friends that night, it was so warm.”

Richie shrugged, drawing their clasped hands out onto the table. “He felt so bad he offered to buy me breakfast, after I showered,” Richie caught the eye of someone over Eddie’s head. Eddie turned, and Devon was sending them a look that could kill if looks from lame, greasy boys were lethal, “of course.” Richie winked at him.

"You asked out a man," his mom drawled slowly, with quiet rage, from the other end of the table, "who willingly got in a dumpster?" 

"Only for Eddie, Mrs. K." Richie reminded her, running a soothing hand through some of the short hairs on the back of his neck. 

"You know, once in college-" Roberta started, alleviating the tension a little bit.

Anya and Carl had ignored the small conflict, and turned their questions to Oscar and Lucy. Eddie felt Richie press his forehead into the side of his face. He huffed out a laugh against his skin, and Eddie laughed, in a small, gentle way, too. He shut his eyes, knowing if he opened them he’d have to deal with the glare from his mother.

The conversation was generally disjointed and somewhat off. There were little back and forth comments, but for the most part, the family lived close together. They knew most of what was going on with each other’s lives. The big freak show event was Richie and Eddie, but other than the occasional inappropriate comment and Richie’s arm thrown over the back of Eddie’s chair, there wasn’t a lot going on.

“I know what we should do,” Anya spoke up loudly, giddy with the joy of mashed potatoes and a glass of wine, “we should go around the table, and everyone can say something they’re thankful for.

Roberta’s kids looked supremely disinterested in this activity, and pissed to be stripped of their cellphones, Eddie noticed. Lucy had her face in her palm, sourly pushing a fork around a plate that mostly contained mac and cheese. As far as Eddie could tell, Oscar had created a war zone on his plate.

“My friends,” was Lucy’s bitter answer.

“Dad is getting me an x-box,” was Oscar’s wayward answer, knocking over a tower of corn. Roberta took a deep swig of her glass of wine. Eddie realized she was probably gonna drop the kids at their father’s sometime later that night.

Eddie realized he had missed most of the table’s thoughts as it rounded towards him. Vera fixed Oscar’s napkin in his lap, his expression soured as she fussed over him. He wasn’t even her kid. “Getting to spend time with my family, of course!” She enthused, “don’t play with your food, Oscar. Here, take some more spinach-” again, she had never had any idea whose kids were whose. Or, that none of them were hers.

“My family,” Devon answered. Eddie could have laughed, and Richie’s hand dropped soothingly on to his shoulder.

“I’m thankful I’m healthy,” Eddie tried to sound sincere. His mother’s eyes narrowed at him.

“Headphones and tobacco,” Richie replied flatly, shoving some chicken into his mouth. Eddie covered his mouth with his sweater-covered hand, and choked out a laugh into it.

The other person who laughed was Roberta on Richie’s other side.

She held up her glass of wine, “to HBO and chocolates with the caramels in the middle.”

Richie clearly made his family incredibly uncomfortable, and yet they didn’t seem to mind having him around. If anything bothered them about Richie, it was the Eddie part of it. Eddie, more self-consciously than before, tucked himself moreso into Richie’s side. He scooted his chair loudly against the floor to do so.

“What are you doing now, Eddie?” Carl asked him kindly from across the table, grabbing his wife’s hand next to him. Anya shifted forward with interest as well.

“I’m still at the same hospital,” Eddie nodded. Richie shifted to look at him with interest. Eddie tried not to acknowledge it, and mentally begged him to remember that they were dating, dumbass. He’d know these things. It settled over him for the first time in hours that they...barely knew each other. Eddie didn’t know how they managed to fuck up badly enough to not include Eddie’s occupation in their game of questions, but Richie definitely knew Eddie’s stance on ghosts.

“How is that treating you?” Anya asked.

“Hard hours, but super rewarding,” Eddie replied honestly, taking a bite of mashed potatoes.

Carl nodded the way people do when they think they understand something and they truly don’t, “you know, Devon-” he pointed at the aforementioned cousin with his fork, as if Eddie had forgotten who he was. Eddie wished. “Thought about doing medical school, but decided against it for the very same reasons.”

“What is it that you do, Devon?” Richie leaned over and asked in a way that would sound polite to anyone else. But Eddie could mentally add on the “ _successfully_?” that belonged on the end in his mind - but no one would understand his Drag Race quote anyway, so why bother.

“Devon recently got promoted at his job,” Anya replied for him happily. Devon stabbed into his chicken. “He’ll be finishing his certificate soon.”

“Devon’s going to be a mechanic,” Eddie explained, settling a decidedly couple-y hand on Richie’s thigh.

“School wasn’t for our Devon,” Carl nodded seriously. To, Eddie, it wasn’t intentionally patronizing. Devon stabbed at his plate anyway.

“What do you do?” Devon demanded from the end of the table. Oscar, across from him, seemed very determined to fling as much of his food at his sister as possible. Roberta, on the opposite corner of the table, seemed very determined to not notice.

“Well, I feel ya’ on the school thing, buddy,” Richie replied easily. “I didn’t get a degree either.” Eddie accidentally splashed some red wine on the table runner. Good, it was tacky.

“Figures,” Devon stabbed at his plate again, and Anya looked to Carl in a cringe. They wouldn’t say anything, they never did.

Richie just turned away from him, “I started coding when I was in high school, after I built my own computer,” he explained to Anya and Carl. Eddie watched him, unsure to tell if he was lying. He could never tell if he didn’t know. “I started programming in college, picked up the basics the first year, left and never turned back. I work full time remotely, programming for a company called Treyarch. They keep talking about making me go back to school, but I don’t think it’ll happen. They say the same thing about moving me out to San Diego.”

Devon’s fork clattered into his plate. His face whipped to Richie’s furiously, and he squinted with disbelief. “That’s a video game company.”

Richie shuffled more fully into Eddie’s space, “ten points for Gryffindor,” he responded lightly. Eddie laughed, and so did Anya, covering her mouth in a little huff.

“So, you people,” Eddie knew exactly what he meant by that, “play video games?”

“Yeah,” Richie tugged Eddie fully into his side, “right after our nails dry.” Eddie huffed out a laugh, turning in Richie’s arms to press a kiss into his cheek. Richie’s eyes raked down him even from the awkward angle under his glasses. It seemed like he was going to kiss him, and for some reason, it didn’t seem like it was for his family.

“Eddie,” his mother cut through the conversation and across the table with her stare, “will you be attending service with us?” She interrupted the conversation with her high tone and jagged words.

“Uh,” Eddie looked around at the wanting eyes. “Yes?” He always attended service. Even after he came out. He was raised in a methodist household, and the congregation was hardly ready to throw stones. He had received a few pocket bibles and a few pats and sympathetic “love the sinner, hate the sin,” mentions, but also a few that told him reassuring bible quotes and gave genuine hugs. He still never liked being there, the undercurrent always told him on a constant loop that he, and his people, as Devon had put it, were unwelcome there.

But, besides, the service was relatively short and normally not incredibly painful, and what mattered was after. They only visited his father’s grave as a family once a year, and it was on Christmas. It was a walk, all the way through the church graveyard, but it felt important. It was important.

“Are you?” She asked Richie without even using his name, just a pointed stare.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Richie replied without a hint of aggression, biting down on some macaroni with a wide grin, “me and the birthday boy go way back.”

Sonia stood, wiping her mouth with a napkin, “clear the table, Eddie,” she told him curtly. “We’ll leave in a half hour.” She straightened her atrocious sweater, walking with a small amount of difficulty towards the kitchen.

“O-okay,” Eddie looked down at his plate. Sure, it was thirds, but he had planned on eating most of it. “What do you want to keep, Mom?”

“None of it,” she replied incredulously. “It’s been out. It’s gone bad.”

“That’s so wasteful!” Eddie objected, “it’s fine, Mom, it’s only been-”

“Eddie, it is bad. If we eat it, we will get sick.” She replied stubbornly. Eddie slumped in his seat. If he had learned anything living in that house for 18 years, it was to pick and choose battles.

“Yes, mother.” He replied, with a mournful look towards the half-eaten green bean casserole.

He had lost his appetite entirely, and after a few moments of no one saying anything, he sighed and grabbed his plate and empty cup, and walked towards the kitchen.

He scraped his food into the garbage, feeling ridiculous as he did so. In his own apartment, he could probably turn the contents of his plate into an extra meal. He tossed the dish in the sink, casting a dirty look towards the dishwasher his mom kept saying she fixed and not fixing. He planted his hands on the sides of the sink, and let himself have a deep sigh.

He heard soft footsteps behind him, and the clatter of a plate on the counter beside him.

“What’s wrong,” Richie pressed a kiss into the nape of his neck, “peanut?” Of all the things Richie had done so far, it was the most intimate. Even including the kiss in the van. Eddie had already felt himself somewhat emotionally shut down. He couldn’t handle that at the moment.

“No one can see us.” Eddie replied shortly. “You don’t need to do this.”

Richie hesitated a second too long before stepping out of his personal space. “You’re right,” he grabbed his own plate and scraped it into the trash.

Carl and Anya stepped into the kitchen, carrying dishes of their own, and the moment was forgotten.

* * *

“Mom, what are you wearing?” Eddie asked with confusion. Richie held up his own coat in offering. Eddie turned and slipped one arm in, and then the other “You should put on a better coat.” The walk to the grave was a half mile there, and a half mile back.

“Not that that one doesn’t look good,” Richie winked at his mother. Eddie snickered, and smacked him.

“It’ll be fine, Edward.” It was an entirely uncharacteristic response from the woman who had forced him to wear two sets of gloves multiple times as a child.

“So, we have four seats, and you have four, right, V?” Anya cut in avoidantly. She’d do anything to avoid even mildly raised voices. But sometimes voices were raised because there were things that needed to be said. “So, if you take-”

“We’ll take our own ride,” Richie looped his arm over Eddie again, twirling his keys on his finger. Eddie didn’t know why, but for the first time, he felt tense under his touch. He simply walked out of it, nodding to everyone as he left, and hopped outside and down the steps of the porch. Richie was hot on his heels, a moment behind. Richie had to physically unlock the door, couldn't just click it, and Eddie's knees were practically humming from nervous energy and the chill of the night setting in as he waited to unlock the van. 

When Eddie was inside, shutting the door, Richie was already talking, "know the way, Mr. Map?"

Knowing he was already pushing the boundaries of their supposedly platonic agreement, Eddie awkwardly crouched and threw himself as much as he could into a hug with a seated Richie. "Thank you for doing this with me," he huffed into his neck. "I don't want you to think for a moment that I'm not grateful you're here." There was more to say there, that the town and his family and the entire situation sometimes had him in an awful mood. He didn't say any of that. 

"Whoa, whoa," Richie almost laughed, patting Eddie's back awkwardly, "you're welcome, Spaghetti man. I never thought that." Eddie collapsed back into his own seat. 

"It's, uh, to answer your question," Eddie fussed with his seatbelt as a way to keep his hands busy, "yeah. It's right at the stop sign."

"Gotcha, now tell me about this fucking hospital thing, what the fuck do you do-"

* * *

The church is always packed on Christmas Eve. It makes Eddie so nervous he could puke, all of those people and little room to move. 

It's near to the same service every year. There's the occasional change in sermon, but for the most part, nothing changes. Eddie sat casually in the pew as the small children dressed as angels took their spots by the pastor. "Mom," he leaned over and asked, "did we get one poinsettia this year or two?" He eyed the abundant amount of the plants along the the prayer kneeling...place, Eddie didn't know what it was called. Their church did a charity sale of the plants every year, and they always bought one to take to the grave.

"We didn't, Eddie." She replied curtly. 

"...oh?" He asked, subconsciously shifting more into Richie on his other side. "Why not?"

"We're going home after service, Eddie." She replied without really looking at him, like she didn't necessarily like what she was saying either.

"...excuse me?"

"It is too long of a walk and it is too cold, both of us came down with a terrible flu last year." Eddie had sneezed once in his bedroom and she started banging on his door in a surgical mask. "It's too dangerous." 

"Mom," he whispered, pleading with her, shifting forward. He was not going to miss his only real reason for coming to the god awful town, let alone church itself, "you can't be seri-"

"Quiet, Edward." She commanded as the piano for the opening carol of silent night started to play. He sat back in his seat, ignoring Richie's curious eyes on his face. His heart was contracting in his chest, tightening and then releasing, beating wildly. The last of the viewers poured in as the kids started to sing. A man Eddie knew as the dad of a kid he used to go to school with passed by, sending him a curious look. He was sitting too close to Richie, of course he was. 

He looked up, not going to shift away, not going to let it bother him, until it happened again. And again. He had gotten those looks before, pitying or nose wrinkled, like they had smelled something foul. But they were harsher on the faces he knew. He had been coming to this fucking church his entire life. 

He shifted away from Richie. 

"Friends," his pastor spoke. His pastor had gone from old to older, and looked like he was moving slower than ever. Eddie sometimes forgot everything had gotten older, not just him. "We're here tonight to celebrate the birth of our Savior, and to relish in God's love for us," Eddie winced, "his sacrifice, for us. Sending us his only son." His pastor paused, holding his hands out to the congregation. "May we savor that love, and may we share it with our brothers and sisters and Christ." 

 _Yeah_ , Eddie thought, _the congregation is really nailing that by trying to rip the last good thing he had in the godforsaken town out of his hands_. 

Eddie went through with the motions, thinking of the grave, thinking of his mother, who was sitting next to him. He could go out there alone, but that was hardly the point. He didn't know why he cared so much, staring at a plain piece of stone shoved into the ground, leaving it some flowers that will wilt, and die, too. Like everything else. He could hardly stand being in the same room as his mother, but the fact that she wouldn't make that sacrifice anymore. She wouldn't buck it up and walk a mile for her son, for his father. 

“John 3:16:” Eddie had heard this quote before. He had heard it in songs, and he had heard it in the same, serious tone that their pastor used that night. “For God so loved the world, he gave his only begotten son,” Eddie’s mind couldn’t let that thought go. The notion that the scripture made, that the greatest gift you could give was your son. His hand twitched towards his mother’s on the pew.

She withdrew her hand and put it in her lap without so much as a glance in his direction.

Eddie inhaled sharply as the music began to play on the grand piano for the next song. Richie noticed the intake of breath, and reached for him, arm looping around him behind the bench. “Are you o-”

Eddie jolted away from him. “Not here,” he hissed back. It was almost an instinctive response. He wasn’t trying to be queer right now, he was trying to be a son. It took him a few beats of his heart to remember that he was both. He had let himself feel it first. He felt the impulsive reaction of shame, of himself, of who he was, of Richie, even. He hadn’t felt shame like that in a long, long time. Eddie shuddered in the pew, head down as the congregation sang. It was funny that in the service packed with a thousand people, crammed in every which way, every seat filled, people sitting in the hall, he had never felt more alone.

He stood in between the songs, stepped over Richie without a word, and clumsily retreated from the service.

He thought about just walking to the grave himself. He almost did it. It was dark and he didn’t have a flashlight, but he had his cellphone. He had to pass an uncomfortable number of people on his way to the lobby. He sat there with a deep, heaving sigh. It was too far to go alone.

“Hey,” Richie greeted him calmly, walking through the arch. Eddie sighed. He wasn’t in the mood to talk, or explain, or do anything Richie was probably going to ask him to do, “wanna smoke some weed?”

Oh, nevermind.

Eddie could do that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well i flopped on the plan but here is this anyway. i literally suck lmao anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> ohhhh my goood this is so dumb pls leave me a comment anyway bc i Crave Validation & also want to post all five chapters before christmas and thrive off of that sweet sweet motivation i love y'all thanks for reading!!


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